Arriving at Shell Cottage
by nichelle.hp
Summary: Ron has arrived with Hermione from the Malfoy Manor, still reeling from the encounter. Hinted HG/RW. As canon and factual as I could make it


**Disclaimer: JKR is God, I am not. **

Ron was concentrating on two things with all his might: the image of Shell Cottage in his mind and the feel of Hermione's limp form in his arms. He'd always been rubbish at Apparition and he would absolutely kill himself if he splinched her.

_Shell Cottage… Shell Cottage… c'mon…_

And his feet hit solid ground. He looked down at Hermione. Her eyes were half closed, only slivers of the whites of her eyes visible. She was pale as a ghost, except for the scarlet cuts dotting her face. Her body was completely limp, all of her weight entrusted to his arms. He hoisted her body into his arms and half ran up the rocky ledge to the small house beyond.

They'd only narrowly escaped the Malfoys'. He couldn't stand hearing her scream, although at least her screaming told him she was still alive. And now he ran towards the only safety he knew, praying that he hadn't screwed this up as well. He looked down at her. Her face was still screwed up in pain, but other than that, she could have been sleeping. Ron looked away from her, concentrating on not tripping over the ragged terrain.

Once Harry had appeared with Griphook and Dobby, Ron had already made it up to the cottage. Bill and Fleur stood at the entrance, looking aghast. "She's not…?" The couple moved aside to make room for Ron.

"I don't know," Ron whimpered. It was warm outside but the cooler air inside the cottage chilled the tear tracks on his cheeks.

"You should go check on Harry. He's outside as well, with Dobby and Griphook." Bill stared at him as though Ron had spoken another language. "Go!"

"Come, love," Bill murmured to Fleur, still studying Ron's' face. They left.

Ron brought Hermione into the small living room, laying her down on the couch. He squatted beside her on the floor and – bracing himself for the worse – checked for a pulse. He smiled warily as he felt a small _thump,thump,thump_ through her skin. Relief flooded him so intensely, he fell back onto his bottom, face in his hands.

He sat like this for a while until, "Ronald?"

He jerked his head upwards. She was awake, gazing at him through half-lidded eyes and smiling. As she looked at him, Ron felt the greatest rush of emotion he'd ever felt towards anyone before. He scrambled to his knees, staring at her greedily with full knowledge that he was lucky to have this opportunity to have her look back. Words of passion and devotion danced on his tongue, but he couldn't push them off. Instead, he bent down and pressed his lips to her forehead. It was dirty and damp with a cold sweat. There were bits of crystal in her hair. He picked them out with his right hand as his left stroked her arm.

"Now you know how it feels, then," she said. He frowned at her. "I heard you yelling for me." She paused. "I would have come back to you if I could, though."

His face burned with shame. Would she never forgive him? "I'm sorry," he said pleadingly.

The pain and guilt on his face must have softened her, however, because she said very quietly, "I know." She took his face in one hand and passed the pad of her thumb over his cheek. It took Ron a moment to realize her thumb came away wet. He chuckled and hastily wiped his face. She was smiling at him still. "Thank you for saving me."

_Do it, Weasley. For Merlin's sake, just do it, _he thought to himself, eyes on her upturned lips. His face felt hot from nerves. His hand returned to her hair and he began to lean towards her, aiming lower than her forehead this time. And before he knew it, the hand on his cheek and snaked around to cup the back of his neck. She was pulling him down and her mouth landed a little clumsily on his cheek. They remained like this for a brief moment. Although it wasn't the kiss he had been aiming for, Ron felt deliciously lightheaded nonetheless.

Her lips left his skin and her hold on her neck softened. There was a silence. Not awkward or uncomfortable, just quiet. Ron's whole body felt extremely warm.

"Did Harry get away?"

She might as well have punched him in the gut and doused him with cold water. He had forgotten, once Bill and Fleur left the room, that there was anyone else important in the world. "Yeah… I—I think so."

"And the others?"

"Yep."

Hermione tried to sit, but gasped in pain before she could push herself an inch off the couch. "No, don't move!" Ron said quickly.

"My whole body hurts like hell…" she hissed through clenched teeth. "Only when I move, though."

"Then don't move," Ron said.

Hermione smiled again.

"'Arry eez outside," Fleur said, announcing her arrival back into the room. Ron looked round. Bill, Dean and Luna entered with Fleur.

"Oh, Hermione," moaned Luna. "You look _awful_." Hermione smiled at her. Dead looked shell-shocked.

Fleur checked Hermione's limbs for breaks and pulled a bottle of Skele-grow out of her apron pocket. Ron felt a hand on his arm pull him to his feet and then Bill was hugging him, holding him. His heart still thumping and arms like lead, he leant into his brothers' embrace, overwhelmed.

Bill then held him at arms' length, studying his face. "What happened? Dean and Luna and _Ollivander_… and now you lot… Where have you been?"

Ron knew Harry wouldn't want Bill to know. It was only supposed to be the three of them. "Is Harry okay? And Dobby and Griphook?" he asked instead.

Bill released him. "Harry fine, Griphook should survive. But Ron, Dobby… Harry is outside digging a grave." Hermione gasped loudly behind Ron, who closed his eyes as though to block out this knowledge. He felt a stiff weight in his throat and swallowed hard. How many lives were these stupid Horcruxes worth?

"Ron…"

"Can I have a drink? Firewhiskey, if you've got it."

Billy surveyed him for another moment, looking exhausted, but nodded. Ron, Dean and Luna followed him into the kitchen. Bill poured goblets of the smoking liquid for all four of them. Ron downed it in one go, letting the warmth spread through his body, turning his blood to fire. The Firewhiskey relaxed him a bit, slowing his heart rate and clearing his mind.

"How did this happen, Ron?" Bill demanded, a little less patient this time. "You're my brother, I have a right to know what's been going on."

Ron shook his head, staring into his empty goblet. Best not say anything at all. If he let something slip, Harry would never forgive him.

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but there's a war going on, Ron. You come to my house with Dobby dead and Hermione and Griphook not far from it? There's no room for secrets; we're on the same side, you know."

Anger began to course through Ron's veins. What right did Bill have to reprimand him? Speak to him like a child with no concept for danger? Did Bill think Ron didn't understand what could have happened to Hermione? What could have happened to all of them back there? For once in his life, Ron was too drained to row, so he merely shook his head again. Bill looked at Dean and Luna. "It appears we are not supposed to tell you," said Luna with finality. Ron grinned.

"Cheers, Luna." He looked at Bill, speaking to Bill as much as Dean and Luna; they had a right to understand as well. "I'm under Harry's orders, no one else's. He's the one who's going to save all of our skins and if helping him do that means keeping my mouth shut, that's what I'm gonna do."

Ron left the kitchen, preferring not to stick around for Bill's retort. Hermione was sitting up now, leaning against the back of the couch. She still looked pale. He glimpsed her smile as he sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She tucked her head under his chin and, though she was still shaking a little, gingerly scooted closer to him. Settling her hand on his knee, she absently fingered the torn fibers of the material there. The act made his heart ache a little.

They remained like this for a long time. Though he tried to think of other things, what they had to do next, for instance, his train of thought continuously returned to the Manor. Screaming Hermione's name, Wormtail falling to the ground, Greyback lunging across the room at the one thing he cared for most in the world… The more he tried not to think about all those things, the sharper they became in his minds' eye.

Ron was partly grateful as Fleur entered living room, looking weary. Her arms were full of various vials and jars of different colors and sizes. "She 'as got a few broken bones and bruises, spell-work, all over 'er," she said, setting all the potions down on the coffee table. "Zey look like curses. Vairy powerful. How did she get so 'urt, Ronald? She 'as refused to tell me… I figured from ze shock."

Hermione and Ron looked at each other.

"Go help Harry with the grave," Hermione said quietly and gave his knee a small squeeze. Fleur looked affronted.

"Take care of her?" Ron asked her softly and extracted himself from beside Hermione.

A few moments later, digging into the dark, cold Earth with the other two, Ron understood why Harry wanted to do it by hand. The physical strain was a soothing distraction. He thought about Wormtails' hand, Bellatrix's curses, Greyback's fangs… And then thought that perhaps magical wasn't such a wonderful necessity after all.


End file.
